


Relic

by StellarSoular



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: (but nothing explicit don;t worry), M/M, hux's pov mostly, implied nsfw, lol how do tags work even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7072645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarSoular/pseuds/StellarSoular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an argument, a heated night, and a rush to leave, Hux finds that Ren has left behind his helmet in his quarters. Hux isn't brave enough to return it. Ren isn't humble enough to retrieve it. And Hux has some complicated feelings he needs to sort out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relic

Art by 13bella-- they made _three_  pieces!

———

 

It is afternoon on the Finalizer.

From the outside, perhaps to a passing ship, the giant of the First Order fleet is menacing and looming. It seems to be motionless, like a sharply sculpted mountain, silently observing the empty space around it.

Inside, however, a different story entirely. The heart of the Finalizer is constantly drumming, its “blood” the thousands of personnel, going to and fro, from job to job. Always another order to be carried out, another station to be filled, another purpose to be upheld.

One such piece of the intricate puzzle is General Hux. He steps out of an office and walks into the hallway, his greatcoat billowing behind him as he moves. He turns a corner and enters onto a wide bridge. Officers jump to attention, troopers halt and salute; action slows as he passes. But a curt nod (and a miniscule trace of a smirk) brings the pace back to normal.

The day has been well, save for the recent report Hux had received on his comm. Another command console has just been demolished in the flight control center, and he knows exactly who is at fault.

When Hux arrives, Kylo Ren is still there, fuming, his lightsaber ablaze. The junior officer who had been stationed at the console is shivering off to the side, but she straightens up as she notices the general come around the corner.

After sending the junior officer off to be reassigned, Hux turns to face Ren.

“You can’t keep doing this, you know,” he begins. “Each time, you make a fool of yourself, and we have to keep coming back and cleaning up after you. It’s a waste, Ren, a _waste._ ” He sighs, shaking his head in disgust. “You’re driving me practically mad.”

Ren deactivates his saber. “I’ll do whatever I want,” comes the distorted, grumbling voice, courtesy of the voice changer in his helmet. “I could destroy every console on this ship if I wanted.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Hux retorts. “How do you expect to keep your reputation up if you keep acting like a child?”

Ren turns to him.

“Oh, don’t deny it, _Kylo._ You whine and you bitch and you constantly throw tantrums. Your actions are immature and selfish. What sort of self-respecting soldier would give any respect to a supposed ‘Dark Lord’ who had an attitude like _that?_ ”

“Don’t test me, General,” Ren says, straightening up. “I have just as much power as you do on this ship, maybe more. You think you can order me around so freely?” He scoffs. “I don’t have to answer to you.”

Hux laughs at the remark. “This is my ship, Ren. If you even _think_ of destroying anything else I will have to take action.”

Ren tilts his head slightly, probably making some smug face under the mask. “Funny,” he says, “I happen to know exactly what to tell you to make you change your mind.”

“And what would that be?”

An invisible presence tightens around Hux, and suddenly he is jerked forward until his nose barely brushes Ren’s mask. “Tonight,” he growls, “I will see you in your quarters.”

He pushes his hand forward, and Hux falls free, stumbling and tripping. He straightens out his outfit, quickly walking away from the scene, pretending not to notice the strange looks from the passing officers.

Well.

That was certainly not what he’d expected. He should be annoyed, perhaps, or even angry at this invitation. But instead it stirs a part of his brain that he thought for sure he had buried. Those thoughts and images that come bubbling up all of a sudden-- no, don’t think about it, don’t think about him like that, and especially don’t think about what’s coming.

His hat straightened, his greatcoat balanced, Hux regains his composure-- all except for the hot rush he feels creeping into his cheeks.

———

 

Activity on the Finalizer has calmed slightly. The usual traffic of people to places continues, but with less urgency, less energy. Not to say, of course, that the personnel aren’t performing well- in fact, the Finalizer runs as smoothly as normal. But to the trained ear, the activity has been hushed, only to blossom again in the morning.

Hux is in his quarters, taking deep breaths, only Kylo on his mind. The metallic gray walls of the rooms reflect the warm lighting from the light strips in the ceiling. As one point of the command triumvirate of the First Order, Hux is given a luxurious room compared to the other officers;  a carpeted floor, a plush bed-- large for a lone sleeper, but the perfect size for two.

Hux sits on the bed and begins to take off his boots. His greatcoat is hanging neatly in his closet, his tunic unzipped a short length. He puts his boots against the edge of the bed and sighs.

As if on cue, he hears a shrill beep, and a low, distorted voice comes through the speaker at the door.

“Permission to enter quarters.”

Hux sits up a little straighter. “Granted,” he says, and the metal door slides open.

“Hux.”

Kylo Ren enters, his hand going up to his helmet and releasing the seal. He lifts it off and sets it down on the table against the wall.

Hux looks up into Ren’s eyes, a fresh sight after the cold mask. He observes the tousled black hair, the freckled face, the mouth that carries only a shadow of a smile as Ren looks around.

“We both need this desperately,” Ren says, pulling off his cape and dropping it on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“Clearly you more so than I,” Hux responds. “You were the one who came all the way to _my_ quarters. I didn’t even do anything-- you went out of your way to invite yourself over.”

Ren turns. Hux stares into his cold brown eyes and smirks. He knows that this talk will pull some sort of reaction out of him-- which is exactly what Hux wants.

“Excuse me?”

Comparing it to Ren’s other outbursts, you can hardly call what’s coming _anger._ But Hux needs to draw it out of Ren, draw out that emotion, turn it into _passion,_ for his own benefit.

“There are so many things you want to say to me, but you have to keep up your reputation around the Finalizer, isn’t that right? I’ll bet you think about me all the time. I’ll bet I take up a lot of space in that little mind of yours. You know… if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were _weak_  for me.”

It’s that buzzword that always hits him, like a smack in the face. Ren’s eyes grow dark. “Weak, he says, almost chuckling. “Weak!” He sits down next to Hux, leaning in close.

“I don’t have to bet on what _you’re_ thinking about,” Ren says, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “I can see inside your mind any time I want. And you know what? You’re the one who’s consumed with me.”

Hux swallows hard.

“You’re not as strong-minded as you think you are, Hux,” he continues. “I know all the thoughts that you try to suppress.” He looks off to the side and chuckles again. “Weak,” he says to no one in particular.

And before Hux knows it Ren’s hand is at his throat. “I’ll show you _weak_ ,” he says, his eyes wild. “When I’m done… when I’m satisfied… it’s _you_ who’ll be weak!”

Perfect.

The wild fantasies that were simmering earlier are flaming now, a million instincts telling Hux to _act,_ to do _something._ Without thinking, he leans in close to Ren and kisses him. The two of them come together, full of passion and rage and feelings too complex to name.

Ren is the first to pull away from the kiss. His eyebrow cocked, he stares into Hux’s eyes, intrigued.

Hux grins.

Then Ren pulls him close, kissing his neck, and Hux reaches behind himself and presses the light switch on the wall. The room goes dark.

———

“That was nice.”

Ren’s voice, breathy, satisfied. The two of them lay together, bare-skinned among the soft comforter and the tangled sheets, together in the dark.

“You were good,” Hux replies.

“I know.”

Hux scoffs, cozying up next to Ren. They lay on their sides, facing each other.

“But so were you,” Ren says, and Hux smiles, hoping the darkness of the room will be enough to hide his grin. Ren draws Hux closer to himself, and they both close their eyes and drift away into sleep.

———

An urgent beeping rouses Hux from his slumber. Ren’s comm is going off, and he sits up in bed and shakes the black hair from his face. As he looks at the blue glow of the comm screen, his expression darkens.

“What’s the matter?” Hux yawns, rolling over.

“I need to see Leader Snoke. It’s urgent.”

Hux groans and rolls back on his stomach, Ren speeding out of bed. He lifts up the black pile from the floor and picks it apart, shoving on each piece of clothing one at a time.

“He didn’t give you prior notice?”

“Watch it,” Ren snaps. “I should be able to report to him any time at a moment’s notice. And so should you, anyway.”

Hux sighs and rolls back over. Ren sits on the bed, pulling on his boots. Neither of them speak.

Finally, Ren tightens his wide belt and throws his rag of a cape over his shoulders. He stands, glaring daggers down at Hux. He rolls face-up and looks back up at Ren.

“Ren…”

He turns for the door.

“Thank you for last night.”

Is that a smile on his face? Hux can’t tell.

The door opens. The door closes.

Alone, he shuts his eyes and sighs.

———

Hux wakes up from his brief return to sleep, his alarm going off at its regular time. He pulls himself out of the bed-- normally an easy task, made harder by the extra heat trapped between the folds of the sheets. His uniform is also on the ground in a heap, and he chides himself for the sloppiness. Even after last night’s… proceedings, he could have found time to fold up his uniform after he took it off.

But it’s useless to dwell on what could have been, and instead he ponders what _was._ Everything that happened between them last night, of course. But back further-- ah, right, the demolished console, the invitation.

Did Ren get him to change his mind about the punishments…?

_“You’re not as strong-minded as you think you are, Hux.”_

Maybe he can suspend any consequences for a short while. As a thank-you of sorts.

Hux stands and makes the bed, pulling up the sheets, smoothing out the comforter. Then he sits and starts getting dressed, his gaze noncommittally sweeping around the quarters.

A gleam of light in the corner of Hux’s eye catches his attention, and he stops with his arm halfway in the sleeve. He shakes his head in disbelief. Is he really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing?

He chuckles, in spite of himself, awed.

Ren, in his hurry to leave, left his helmet in Hux’s room. There it is, tipped over on the floor, looking back up at Hux.

He knows that means Kylo Ren, the normally terror-inducing Sith, has to be somewhere on the Finalizer at this moment without his trademark helmet on.

Hux sits on the bed and thinks. The mask Ren wears, so alien and menacing, only heightens the level of fear his presence induces. But to strip that layer away would almost be like removing a valuable piece of armor-- to have his face revealed, without his approval, must be some sort of sign of weakness to Ren. And imagine-- what if he’s _shy_ about showing his face? Or that unruly black mop on his head he calls his hair? Hux grins at the thought. How vulnerable Ren must be without his helmet on, how deliciously _vulnerable._

Unless he has more than one? Hux wonders, and amuses himself with the thought of Ren having two or three extra helmets somewhere in his room. But Hux’s quarters aren’t next door to Ren’s, and of course that means there are people aboard who have seen Ren’s face for the first time today.

And even more amusing-- Ren didn’t even think to turn around and come back for the helmet! His pride, his ego, prevented him from the humiliation of going back in for his helmet, at the cost of having his face exposed!

How _hilarious_ it all is.

Hux resumes his dressing, but all the while he can’t tear his gaze away from the helmet. Finally he’s dressed, and a quick comb and slick-back of his hair returns him to his normal gentlemanly state, an almost shocking transformation after the mess Kylo had made of him last night.

Hux sighs and looks at the mask. Should he return it? No, that would be much too suspicious, the General carrying Lord Ren’s helmet. That would cause some sort of buzz among the officers. He decides against it.

But to keep the helmet in his quarters…?

No one but Hux (with an obvious exception, it’s literally staring him in the face) is allowed in his quarters. Of course. He could hide it in here, and sooner or later Ren would come to retrieve it, and that would be that. No one would have to know about the mishap.

Hux straightens his greatcoat and adjusts his gloves. A few quick taps at the switch pad and the door slides open with a mechanical hiss. The lights in his quarters shut off as he walks out into the corridor, and the door shuts behind him.

———

The meeting room is brightly lit. It is simple and rectangular, a desk in the middle at which sit Captain Phasma and two other officers. One wall is an elaborate technical display, the wall to its left made of transparisteel, overlooking a docking bay. The door is across from the transparisteel wall, still closed.

Kylo Ren is late to the meeting.

“I suppose we could start, then,” says Hux, standing at the display wall. “Lord Ren may be important but I’m sure we can agree that punctuality is _more_ important,” and he allows himself a smirk. Then he touches the display, bringing up an image of a cargo ship.

“This ship is called the Blue Pratia. It was disguised as an ordinary New Republic cargo ship, but was carrying some important plans concerning future Resistance actions. It was headed in our direction when it was sabotaged. At first it seemed to be a regular pirate band, but future investigation revealed that it was a Resistance mission that did the job.”

The officer at Phasma’s right brings his hand to his chin.

“Based on the automatic transmissions we received from the ship’s computer, the Resistance squadron left the ship somewhat intact-- at least, intact enough that copies of the plans still remain.”

He pauses.

“I hope you understand the importance of this move. We must act quickly, and I have orders from our Supreme Leader to construct a plan--”

A sharp tug at the back of his mind, like an instinct telling him something is wrong. Hux turns to the door.

It’s _Ren._

The door slides open and he storms in, his robes flying behind him. He Force-pulls out a chair and sits down, then straightens as if nothing has happened.

But he’s not wearing a mask.

_He’s not wearing his mask!_

Hux almost lets a wild laugh slip out. _That was his only helmet._ Imagine how he must have felt, that pathetic little sod. Maybe it occurred to him on his way to Leader Snoke’s chambers, that he had forgotten, but he couldn’t go back for it now! And how exposed he must have felt after the fact. How painfully aware he would have been, that he would be less intimidating, less powerful. But, most importantly, how the sound of his voice and the look of his face can no longer be a mystery. How amusing.

“Thank you for deciding to grace us with your presence, Lord Ren,” he says, turning back to the display.

Ren grunts. From the corner of his eye, Hux sees Ren’s laughably pouty face, as if he’s trying to look angry but failing. He notices the officers sitting up especially straight, trying not to catch Ren’s eye.

How _amusing!_

“As I was saying,” Hux continues, “I am in the process of putting together a plan to retrieve the stolen plans, which will be a priceless asset to us. There will be two standard-size trooper squadrons, and backup incase the Resistance still has soldiers there.” He taps at the keypad in the corner, and an image of a planet comes up.

“This is Cinnatar, in the Outer Rim. The Resistance mission piloted the Blue Pratia to this planet and left it there. Whether they escaped with another squadron is unknown.” He turns back to the table. “Phasma, the finer details of the plan will be left to you. I will comm you later with more information.” He sweeps his gaze across the room. “As for the trooper squadron…”

Hux trails off. He feels a cold stare from Ren’s brown eyes. That bastard is planning something, and he knows it, and Ren knows that he knows it.

“...we should pick the most well-abled troops for this mission. I have recently been…”

Hux tries to focus, suddenly agitated, losing his train of thought.

“Sir?” asks one of the officers. “Is everything alright?”

Hux says nothing, taking deep breaths. He glares at Ren, trying to continue.

“I have been…”

Ren chuckles.

Hux turns to Ren, his head starting to feel fuzzy. “Whatever you’re doing, Ren…” he says through clenched teeth.

Then he feels it.

Despite Ren’s accusation from the last night, Hux has been able to close him out of his mind before. It takes some doing to force away the invasive presence of Ren’s mind, to build up a mental defense, but he can do it. And he knows how to tell when Ren has chipped away at that defense and burst through.

Unfortunately, this is one of those times.

Ren’s presence, muffling his senses, exploding into his mind, _no, no, get out of here, this is an important meeting, what are you doing to me?_

And all of the memories of last night fill his awareness, every heated second overwhelming his thoughts. He sees himself through Ren’s eyes, short of breath, tousled hair. He sees, hears, feels, _oh no, oh no,_ he feels everything coming back to him at that moment.

Faint voices, like echoes.

“Lord Ren? What are you doing?” Phasma.

“Shutting him up.” Ren.

The memories are a hurricane in his brain.

“That’s enough,” comes Phasma’s voice again.

A hesitation.

And Hux snaps back into reality, covered in sweat, short of breath. Ren is standing, his hand outstretched, but he pulls himself out of Hux’s mind.

“I can take it from here, General,” he says, opening the door. “I was getting tired of hearing your voice.”

Hux steps out, ashamed, confused.

“So about the trooper squadron--” he hears Ren say, the door slamming shut.

———

Hux storms into his quarters, sweating and shivering.

He shuts and locks the door, his mind rather like a demolished console, sparking and smoking.

The helmet… where did he hide the helmet…

He spots it under the bed.

Hux picks up the helmet and examines it, holding it at arm’s length. The embarrassment, the humiliation, the fear all show in his reflection on the helmet.

“Damn you, Ren,” he hisses. “Damn you. Curse you! Who do you think you are to make a fool of me like that?” He practically hurls the mask against the wall, the last shreds of his dignity stopping him.

“He thinks I’m weak for him,” Hux thinks out loud. “He thinks he knows how I feel and he _uses that to humiliate me!_ ” he shouts, throwing it onto the soft bed. It lands and tips onto its side.

“Ren! You… you… in front of Phasma? In front of… while… while I was giving _orders?_ How could you do this?!”

He stops, sighing. “It’s not as if I hate what happened the night before. I loved every moment. But…”

And the pieces click together. Of course. That’s the reason why he pulled up the memories. Because Ren knows that deep down, somewhere in Hux, are feelings for him. And Ren _used_ those feelings against him like it was nothing.

“If only you could understand…” he sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking around the room. “If only I could just _tell_ you how I feel. When I wanted to. Without you learning for yourself, or making a fool of me, for once.”

He laughs.

“Damn, I sound absolutely _pathetic_.” He turns his gaze back to the helmet. It seems to stare at him, some sort of presence emanating from behind the transparisteel visor. A sudden, chilling thought pops into Hux’s head-- what if Ren can see through this helmet, somehow?

He takes a deep breath.

“Kylo Ren… is an idiot,” he says to the helmet.

No response. No tightening about the throat. But he’s thrown worse insults at that _brat_ \-- oh, that’s a good one.

“Kylo Ren is a _brat_ and a _child_ and an insufferable little _prick._ ”

Nothing. So the helmet isn’t a Force-powered viewport or something of the sort.

Hux sits in silence for a minute, trying to collect his thoughts. But the way Ren chose to assault him with the memories, instead of choking him or throwing him against a wall baffles him. _How can he use my feelings like that, use my own thoughts against me? Why can’t I function normally? What’s wrong with me? Why do I let myself get so consumed by that--_

“You’d just make fun of me if I told you,” Hux begins, internally berating himself. He must look like a _madman_ , talking to this helmet as if--

As if--

As if it were Ren.

“If I ever told you honestly, even here, in private.” He picks up the helmet again, but more tenderly now, more carefully. “Damn it all, I sound like a child,” he says, examining the helmet. He runs his gaze over the shining lines of silver around the eyes, feels the cool metal in his hands. “So you’ve seen what’s in my mind. Fine. But do you understand me? Are you willing to take me seriously? Or will you just keep using those thoughts to your advantage?” he sighs.

“No, I bet you’ve figured it out already. I bet you’d like to--”

Hux stops, catching himself, his thoughts having recklessly poured out of his mouth. He has to remain calm, calm and professional. There should be nothing more than a civilised rivalry between him and Ren.

Hux’s mind snaps back to the previous night.

“There has been much more between the two of us than a rivalry,” he says, and the helmet silently agrees.

Almost without thinking, Hux hugs it close to himself, staring at the wall. “Damn and blast it all,” he says. “If Snoke weren’t here, perhaps I could finally be the ruler of this galaxy, like I deserve to be. Then maybe we could stop this constant vying for his attention, this blasted tug-of-war.” He sits this way for a while, his mind racing. It’s much easier to talk to Ren’s helmet when he’s not wearing it, when he’s not around to retaliate. But what if he got used to the unseeing eyes of the mask, and confessing to them? What could he get away with saying to the _real_ Ren, the Ren without the mask?

Not enough.

———

Kylo Ren steps out of the meeting room.

The morning had been stressful, the loss of his helmet frightening at first. But Snoke assured him that this could be a test of his resolve, of his ability to hold up his power. And why not? He could be fine out there without the helmet. He’s _Kylo Ren,_ after all.

Holding together and not panicking is more difficult than he had hoped. But the fact remains that the helmet is gone, and all the menace he normally carries will have to come from within.

Kylo walks faster down the hall, every bit as cold and powerful as normal, but with his face exposed to the Finalizer. The officers whisper about it, the passing fighter pilots turn their heads. To see his face for the first time brings him closer to the crew than before-- some had speculated that there was a disfigured face under the mask, like the Lord Vader of old. Others had guessed that there was something inhuman there, something otherworldly and frightening. But to see him this way almost made him like an equal-- but to ponder this idea would be suicide.

And he knows all of that, of course, thoughts flowing into his mind like shadows. He feels the same fear that had oozed from the passerby before, but their guards are let down just by a small fraction.

Huh.

He’ll have to take care of that somehow.

Kylo notices one of the officers staring as he walks by, his eyes wide with disbelief. That’s the mistake-- staring.

Kylo raises his hand. “Back to work,” he growls, and Force-throws the officer aside. Then in flows a subtler wave of fear, of straightening backs and averted gazes.

_Perfect._

He passes one of the posters that pop up every so often around the Finalizer’s halls. One of the Hux ones.

Seeing the General’s face gives Kylo a start. The mask is still in his quarters. He could get it any time he wanted. He could go _back._

But he shakes the thought away. No, if he went back for it that would make him look weak. And Hux is one of the last people on this ship who should ever underestimate _Kylo Ren_ , right?

But how long can he hold out before he has to go back for it?

Kylo keeps walking. Without the helmet, he has to strain to keep his face expressionless. He reassures himself that he is _in control_ . He is _powerful._ The missing helmet is not a weakness but a _strength._

Despite it all, he is still Kylo Ren.

———

Hux returns to his quarters for the night.

Despite the hiccup at the beginning of the day, he’d managed to regain his composure and complete his daily duties with relative ease, besides the constant fighting to suppress any thought about what had happened.

Now he sits at his desk, going through the reports and the files and the orders, swiping through the lot with a bored sigh.

He turns off the bright panel in the desk, closes his comm and puts it down. As he stands up, the helmet stares up at him from under the desk.

“No, not now,” Hux says to it. “You stay there and don’t bother me.”

And an idea pops into his head.

Suddenly curious, Hux reaches down and picks up the helmet, running his fingers across its metal workings. Then he finds it-- the seal activator switch. He presses it, hesitant at first, but he hears the muffled hiss and watches as the front panel of the mask shifts upward.

Hux’s breath grows faster, a grin spreading on his face. He turns the helmet and slowly, carefully, puts it on, reactivating the seal.

For a moment, darkness.

Hux had put on a stormtrooper helmet once before, when he was conducting a small check in a bunker. The stormtrooper helmet had had dozens of numbers and symbols floating about in its visor; constellations of serial numbers and statistics clouding the edges of his range of vision.

In the brief moment before Hux’s eye’s adjust, he imagines those numbers popping up in Ren’s helmet.

He is wrong.

There are two numbers: a clock at the bottom right corner of his vision, and a longer set of numbers and letters at the top right that changes irregularly. The transparisteel visor tints the world a dark, dull red, giving normally sharp edges a slight blur.

He stands up, peering around his quarters, for the first time seeing the world through Kylo Ren’s eyes. It is somewhat harder to navigate, he finds, the awkward shape of the visor obstructing his peripheral vision completely. And the world around him feels entirely different, his senses muffled as he thought they would be-- yet strangely heightened, as bizarre as that sounds.

Hux walks back and forth, adjusting himself to the added weight of the helmet. He peers at himself in the mirror-- an odd sight, the order and symmetry of the uniform contrasting the helmet’s metal workings.

He chuckles, then startles, thrown off by the new deepness of his voice. The voice-changer, yet _another_ means of intimidation. Hux speaks, a few lines from a speech, a handful of random sentences. But the growling ferocity the helmet provides is astonishing.

This simple work of machinery could transform a person, Hux thinks. And he feels it flooding him with confidence already, straightening his posture, its weight almost like nothing now. Its effect on him is almost magical.

But he stops. He imagines how Ren would react.

_Enjoying yourself?_ he would say.

And Hux stares in the mirror again, and the magic is gone, and he looks just as awkward as before. He feels again for the seal switch.

The hiss comes again.

_That’s what I thought,_ Ren might have said.

Hux takes it off, staring at his messy hair, his eyes readjusting. His mind is hazier now, still brimming with images of what could be, the idea of having a helmet of his own not too far out of reach.

It’s late, he realizes. He should be in bed.

He carefully sets the helmet down on the desk, turning it away from the bed, and gets ready to go to sleep.

———

Hux sits bolt upright in bed.

His nightmare disappears from his memory as soon as he wakes, covered in a cold sweat.

The helmet still sits on his desk.

He looks at the back of it, almost catches his reflection in the dull metal. He thinks of Kylo, and the night they shared, and the relic he’d left behind in his hurry.

And he snaps right back to his senses.

This has gone on long enough. Damn it, the thing is practically starting to poison him. Today, Hux decides, he _will_ carry it out there and he _will_ deliver it right back to Ren.

He marvels at his own newfound confidence as he explodes out of bed. But it is as if his reputation matters less than this issue, now. The helmet has to be away from him and back in its rightful place on Ren’s head.

———

This has gone on long enough, Ren thinks. He doesn’t care anymore about looking weak, about holding his own without the helmet. Today, he decides, he will march right back to Hux’s quarters and take the thing back.

Ren throws his tattered cape over his shoulders. He should have done this much earlier.

———

Fully uniformed, Hux straightens his hat and takes the helmet in his hands. One last look at it, one last examination of this work of metal from every side and every angle. He sighs, then steps toward the door.

Blast, he’s _really_ doing this.

———

The doors of Ren’s quarters hiss open and he steps out into the hallway, casting a quick glance at the _other_ helmet he has, the one he can’t wear.

_Grandfather._

He turns and nearly collides with an officer as the doors slam closed, and throws her aside with the Force. Her cry of pain is muffled by Ren’s focus on the task at hand.

He’ll tear apart if he doesn’t get it back _right now._

———

Hux makes the turn onto the bridge that connects his hallway to Ren’s. He picks up his pace, staring at the helmet, heavy and lopsided in his hands. He does not look ahead.

———

Ren walks onto the bridge, looking out across the gap at the innards of the Finalizer. He watches the first signs of the ship’s heartbeat picking up. He, too, does not look ahead.

———

They collide.

“Fuck!”

Ren staggers back, ready to Force-slam someone into a wall--

“Hux?”

“Ren!”

The hatred in their faces is mutual.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Taking my helmet back. What are _you_ doing?”

“ _Giving it to you, damn it!_ ”

They stare at eachother, mystified.

“How did you know?” Ren asks, staring at Hux, and then the helmet in his hands, and then at Hux again.

“What do you care? Here’s the blasted thing. Don’t ever do that again, it was driving me practically mad just being near me.”

Ren smirks. “Just like I do.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “For once I can’t argue with you.”

They stand there in the hall, unsure of what to say next.

Finally, Hux presses the seal switch, and the front plate of the mask slides upward again. “Here,” he says, handing it to Ren, but he is met with a look of intrigue.

“You know how to do that?”

“Just put it on,” Hux says, shoving it at Ren again.

He takes it in his hands, and the helmet already seems much more at home with him. Ren takes a moment to just gaze at it.

Then he lifts it over his head and puts it on, the seal closing. He chuckles a little.

“What’s so funny?” Hux snaps.

Ren says nothing.

Hux sighs and turns away, walking back to his room.

Then he feels a stiffness around his legs.

“We’re not done here,” comes Ren’s voice, distorted once more.

Hux swallows and walks slowly back.

“Look.”

And he does.

The morning shift has started. Thousands of troopers, fighter pilots, officers, technicians, going to and fro, from job to job. The Finalizer is very much alive.

The two of them watch idly.

“Any reason you wanted me to stay here? Perhaps you’re going to finally offer me an apology for what you did at the meeting?”

Ren ignores him.

“As I thought.”

Hux thinks of the one-sided conversations he’d had with the twisted helmet. He’s getting a similar feeling now; very much like talking to a wall.

Ren scoffs.

“It’s true,” Hux says, to no reply.

They keep staring over the edge of the bridge.

“You don’t suppose we’re going to stand here all day?”

Nothing.

And then Ren takes Hux’s hand in his.

Hux is surprised at the gesture, then looks away, a small blush growing in his cheeks. This, he supposes, is the closest he’ll ever get to an apology.

And, he hopes, it is proof that somewhere under the metal shell and the black tatters and the hatred… there are feelings to match his own.

He sighs, but not out of contempt. For this small moment, his hand still in Ren’s, Hux is satisfied.

———

Kylo’s helmet is back on his head where it’s supposed to be, but he’s glad to have it back for a different reason.

Because Hux’s hand is in his, and on his face he wears the widest grin in the galaxy.

———

THE END

 


End file.
